


Sincerely, Your Secret Admirer

by EmeraldAshes



Category: Dear Evan Hansen - Pasek & Paul/Levenson
Genre: Bad Matchmaking, Connor Deserves Happiness, Jared encourages your middle school crush BS, M/M, Matchmaking, Panic Attacks, Secret Admirer, Secret Admirer Letter, The Insanely Cool Jared Kleinman, There is nothing unrealistic about the love one man feels for another
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-23
Updated: 2017-10-23
Packaged: 2019-01-21 23:56:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12468860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmeraldAshes/pseuds/EmeraldAshes
Summary: “You know that guy from down the hall? Who you have a crush on? And kinda looks like a spider? I wrote a secret admirer letter, scribbled your number at the bottom, and shoved it under his door.”Evan tried not to hyperventilate. “You what?!”Jared cackled. “Good luck!”





	Sincerely, Your Secret Admirer

“Alright, I’m gonna need you to not freak out,” Jared said in the absolute _worst_ phone call hello that Evan had ever heard.

Evan, sitting cross-legged on his bed, already felt his heartbeat quicken. “Oh God. W-What did you d-do?”

“See, no, this is what I’m talking about. Everything’s cool. Everything’s great. Relaaaaaaax.”

Evan took a deep breath and spoke in a jumble. “Right, right. I’m fine. Totally fine. Super calm. Can you please tell me?”

“Wow,” Jared said, “I understood maybe three words of that.”

Evan’s hands were white where they gripped his cell phone. “Just tell me!”

“Ooh, very take charge. Kinky.” Jared cackled.

Evan rolled his eyes. “Shut up.”

“And leave you in suspense? I couldn’t do that. Could I? Hmmmm.” He drew out the “hm” for at least thirty seconds, and wait, Jared had done something, and it was going to freak Evan out. But Jared had only left Evan’s apartment 10 minutes ago. What could he possibly have done in 10 minutes? It probably, hopefully wasn’t going to panic him as much as not knowing did.

“Jared,” Evan whined.

Jared continued, “You know that guy from down the hall? Who you have a crush on? And kinda looks like a spider?”

Yeah, okay, the guy was dark and tall and thin and stuff, but he didn’t look like a spider. Spiders were freaky looking. This guy was the exact opposite of that. “He does not.”

“Right, of course not. His face was sculpted by the Gods in a perpetual scowl. His hair is long and flowing and probably hasn’t been washed in a week. His eyes are strikingly beautiful as they glare at you.”

“He’s not, um, not always like that, I don’t think. Maybe he just doesn’t like you?” Evan mumbled.

“I literally talked to him one time!”

“And m-made fun of his clothes?”

Jared snorted. “Have you _seen_ his clothes?”

“Um, yes. They’re, they’re not bad.”

“Just suck his dick, why don’t you? Remember how I told you to either ask him out or stop talking about him all the time?”

Evan jumped up from his bed, walking from wall to wall in his small apartment. “Sort of?”

Jared’s voice grew heavy with smugness. “Well, you didn’t stop mooning, so I decided to speed things up.”

“You”—Evan choked—“you what?”

“I wrote a secret admirer letter, scribbled your number at the bottom, and shoved it under his door.”

Evan managed a small, horrified squeak.

“Good luck, buddy!” Jared hung up.

Evan stood in the middle of his apartment, dread heavy in his stomach. He was going to throw up.

A secret admirer letter.

A secret admirer letter, which was probably more like “Wanna have sex with me?” because this was Jared, and this was all a big joke to Jared. Everything about Evan was a big joke to Jared.

Evan was one narrow hallway and three doors down from the guy he had a crush on, a guy who he didn’t even know, whose _name_ he didn’t even know. He should, should try to stop this before it all went bad. Stop him before he read the letter, maybe leave another letter apologizing for the first. But what if the guy came home just as Evan was slipping the letter under his door, and Evan had to explain and then be rejected in the middle of the hallway? And they would pass each other in the hall and carefully not look at each other for the next six months because Evan had just renewed his lease. And besides, maybe his crush had already read the letter.

Maybe he wouldn’t call. Please, please, please don’t call.

 

* * *

 

Connor was going to call. Not because he was _buying_ this bullshit, but because he wasn’t going to just lie down and let someone laugh at him. Did they think he was a fucking idiot?

“To the Tall Guy with the Long Hair,” the letter read on the outside. The inside continued, “I think you’re hot. If you’re single, call me. Sincerely, your secret admirer. 555-783-2030.”

The writer sounded like a huge asshole, even if it _was_ genuine, which it obviously wasn’t. It was a stupid joke. Vain dumb-fuck Connor thinks he’s so good-looking that people follow him to his apartment just to ask him out. Yeah, sure. It was probably the asshole kids on the floor above him. Or maybe the woman next door who always banged on the walls when he played music.

He crushed the letter in his fist as he dialed the number. “Fuck you.”

“Sorry,” the man on the line murmured, his voice smooth and rich.

“You’re a dick.”

“Sorry.”

“Stop saying fucking sorry!” Connor growled.

The line went silent. Connor kicked his coffee table, hoping the glass top shattered. “This is a shitty joke.”

The man spoke a little louder, panicked. “I-it wasn’t a joke! A-at least, not on you. M-m-maybe on me. My friend thought he was helping, I think? And I don’t know what he said, but it’s probably not true. I mean, it’s not like I don’t think you’re attractive because you’re very, very attractive. But I’m not trying to proposition you, or bother you. Or, or oh God. D-did Jared insult you? That seems like something he would…He’s a jerk. I’m sorry. Really, really…”

Jesus. Connor could hear quick gasps over the phone, and it sounded sickeningly familiar. “Are you having a panic attack?”

No response, which answered the question. Connor was an asshole, but he wasn’t a big enough asshole to hang up after pushing some poor bastard into a panic attack. He should help. “Fuck.”

“Sorry,” the voice gasped.

“You’re fine.” What had his mother done, when he was nine and had been snubbed for another birthday party? Held his hand, rubbed his back, and…

“Can you hear my breathing? Can you breathe with me?” Connor took a deep breath, held it, and then slowly breathed out. Then he did it again. On the third breath, he heard the guy on the phone join him. They breathed together for a few minutes. It felt weirdly intimate.

Finally, he heard a weak “Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Connor answered, rolling the crushed letter between his fingers. “Your asshole friend wrote this?”

“Y-yeah.”

“To mess with you?”

“M-maybe.”

“Because you think I’m very, very attractive,” Connor said flatly.

“Yeah, I, um, I’ve seen you around, and I thought you l-looked really pretty…I mean, it looked pretty cool when you h-had your hair braided?” the voice murmured.

Connor felt a blush creep up his neck. “Shit. You saw that?”

“We’re, um. We live in the same building. Same floor, actually.”

“Huh. Hello, neighbor.”

“H-hi.”

“Where do you live?”

“Um, 204.”

Connor slipped out of his apartment, not bothering to shove on a pair of shoes. “You have a name?”

“Evan? Oh God, that sounded like a question. I’m sorry. Evan Hansen. I’m Evan Hansen.”

Connor knocked on the door of Apartment 204.

“I, um, someone’s at my door. One second, I should, um…”

Evan opened the door a crack, big eyes peering out at the person standing there. He was cute. Cripplingly shy, apparently…but cute. Connor held out a hand. “Nice to meet you, Evan Hansen. I’m Connor Murphy.”

Evan opened the door wider, wiped his palms against his jeans, and grabbed Connor’s hand. His grip was warm, if slightly clammy. Connor held on for a few moments longer than usual.

Evan stared at their hands for a moment, then looked up to meet Connor’s eyes. “D-do you want to…?”

Connor smiled. “Yes.”


End file.
